My December
by Sanqhian
Summary: Cuddy is putting too much pressure on House. And the pain is starting to get to him. But to what length will he go to be free of it all? [slash]
1. Papercut

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**Note: **This will be somewhat similar to past/current events but the story is mine.

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**Chapter One: Papercut**

House was sitting in his office wasting time by bouncing a ball off the wall. Outside the rain that had been threatening to fall all day was finally wrapping the world in its cold embrace. Music streamed through the office from the speakers of his computer. The lyrics never reached his ears for his mind was miles away in another space and time. Every motion he made with the ball was automatic. In an hour his shift at work would be over and he would most likely still be sitting in the same exact position in his chair, his right leg stretched out straight in front of him. He found it to be the best position in keeping away the pain that throbbed every day.

In the hallway outside his office doctors and nurses and patients sought out their destinations, oblivious to the fact that he was behind the closed door. The blinds on the windows were closed so that no one could see inside. He kept the door locked in hopes of keeping visitors away. He wanted the peace and quite of his office, the solitude it offered him. He wanted this chance to be lost in his thoughts instead of thinking about ways to get what he wanted from his boss or from his co-workers. He wanted to search his mind for the understanding that he so desperately needed and wanted. He looked for answers to questions he'd never been asked before.

If the others only knew about the thoughts coursing through his mind, what would they say? To them he knew the answer to every question ever posed. Maybe when it came to medicine and diseases he was nearly always right but not when it came to the complexities of the human mind. He always told his team that people lied because it was true, people lie every day, it didn't matter if the lie was big or small, or if it posed a threat to someone or not, humans lied. It was part of the program instilled by the parents at a young age. He watched his own mother lie to his father day after day until she died. Part of him suspected that his father knew but why he never said anything was beyond him. That was one human function he didn't get.

And now here he was, lying to everyone around him over one thing or another. Only they never could tell if what he said was true or fiction. None of them really knew him for who he was, what he was like on the inside. All they saw was the abrasive doctor that broke rules left and right and spoke to his patients in a rude manor. What they didn't see was the pain he was dealing with. Not the physical pain in his leg. No, the emotional pain that he still hadn't found a way out of. He was rude and crude to everyone he met to keep them at arms length. He didn't want to get close to anyone for fear that they would see the real him; the person who ran from friends and relationships because of the hurt they caused him. And though it was only partially true, he let them think that he was crude so that he didn't get involved personally with his patients. Standing outside kept him from caring one way or the other. It let him do his job.

Yet, everything about him could be unraveled with just one word, with just one secret getting out. The secret that he didn't quite understand. He stopped throwing the ball at the wall and let it slip from his hands to bounce on the floor and eventually roll under his desk. He lay his head back against the chair with his eyes closed hoping, searching for anything. It didn't need to be a clear yes or no answer. He was willing to settle for some sort of sign or even an arrow pointing in the direction he should go. Anything was better than standing at the crossroad trying to figure out with path would lead to happiness.

"Well, I think I'll have to rethink my question," Wilson said as he came into the office through the door leading onto the balcony. House had forgotten to lock it, thinking that no one would come in that way. He was notorious for jumping the small brick wall and entering Wilson's office that way numerous times. Wilson had never done it to him, though.

"And what question are you rethink?" House asked him without bothering to open his eyes and truly acknowledge the oncologist's presence. "I hope it's that tie. You really should get rid of it. No one wears vertical-striped ties anymore."

Wilson brushed off his remark with a roll of his eyes before perching on the edge of House's desk; which for some reason was always meticulously clean. "I was going to bum a ride home with you since my car has been temperamental and finally decided to stop working all together. However, you're holed up in your office and appear to be on the verge of snoozing even though you have an hour of work left."

"For one thing, I'm not snoozing," he replied, placing his hands behind his head. "I'm merely searching my eyelids for holes. And why would you want me to give you a ride home? You do remember that I own a motorcycle, not a car, or was that tidbit of knowledge lost today while you were breaking horrible news to one of your tumor-ridden patients?"

With frustration and the slightest hint of annoyance Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. He was trying to keep the bite of anger from his words. For some reason he kept finding himself in House's office and still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that they'd shared an apartment for some time. Talking to the diagnostician was like walking through a patch of briar bushes, or pulling teeth from an alligator. Sometimes he was just as annoying and as painful as a tiny papercut.

"I'm well aware of the fact that you have a motorcycle, how could any of us forget?" Wilson told him, trying to block out the sound of the music flowing from the computer. "And I know that you park it where it won't get wet or covered in snow. I came to you for a ride because Foreman and Chase are busy, and last time I saw Cameron she was talking to Cuddy in hushed voices. Plus, I got a ride from her once and let's just say I'm not really looking forward to reliving the experience."

House sat up straight, opening his eyes and grabbing his cane from where he had hung it off his desk. "Fine, but I get the helmet and I don't want to hear any whining from you. Better wear your raincoat, it's really coming down." He limped toward the door and checked his watch. "Oh, and you had better gather your stuff. This doctor is leaving in tens minutes, preferably before Cuddy can pounce on me with whatever it is she's planning with Cameron."

He grabbed his coat and left the office, leaving Wilson to digest his words and decide if he really wanted a ride from him. As he made his way down the hallway he pulled the jacket on and pretended to be lost in thought when he saw Cuddy and Cameron standing in a far corner. With luck he was able to slip by them unnoticed. Stepping onto the empty elevator he let a smile form on his lips. He finally had some semblance of an answer to the question that had been haunting him. He was going to give Wilson a ride home on his motorcycle which meant Wilson would have to hold onto him. He chose to focus on that one thought and kept the others at bay as the elevator descended toward to the ground floor.


	2. One Step Closer

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Two: One Step Closer**

The elevator stopped at the ground floor and House got off without the worry of running into Cuddy, who was upstairs. He made his way to the pharmacy to get his refill of Vicodin that he had called in earlier that day. The pharmacist gave him a less than friendly look. A few choice remarks filtered through his mind but he kept them to himself for once, not saying a word as he took the orange plastic bottle and proceeded to open it and down a little white pill. He recapped it and slipped into his jacket pocket. He was reminded of the time that that detective had stopped him and found a handful of pills in his pocket. Detective Tritter had arrested him for possession and speeding, amongst other things. Of course, Detective Tritter was out of his life now, fooled by a doctor more deceiving than most. With a chuckle he had taken up Wilson on the deal of going to rehab for two months. Tritter had been too easy to con. House never spent more than two days in the rehab center. The doctors there never found a reason to keep him and pushed him out the door saying they needed the bed for someone with a real problem.

All the charges were dropped and Tritter stepped out of his life believing that he had helped a man with a problem. Only, House didn't have a problem and Tritter had only made things worse, not better. Everyone, but Wilson, also believed that he had been treated and was no longer reliant on the pain medication. He had never been reliant on it in the first place. He took it because it kept the pain away, not because it gave him a high or because he was addicted. The little white pills allowed him to function like a normal human being. They kept his mind off the pain in his leg and on the job at hand; whether it be paying his bills on time or saving a life. He got his prescriptions now through Wilson, though there had been a slight catch. The oncologist wanted proof that House wasn't an addict. House had willingly given him the number of the therapist in the rehab center that he sent him home. After only one session the man had seen House's pill-popping for what it really was; a relief of intense pain and nothing more.

Sometimes Wilson still had his doubts but he kept his promise and House got to keep his pills. It had been a month and he was beginning to see the cracks in the foundation when he looked at Wilson. The oncologist was waiting for the axe to fall. They both knew that Cuddy was bound to catch on to them at some point. House figured he would cross that bridge when it came, until then he wasn't going to let it worry. He didn't need the added worry. He had enough to think about and keep him awake well into the wee hours of the morning.

He stepped out into the rain. At least it had let up a little. He hated driving in the rain. The roads were slick and people never drove the conditions, going over the speed limit and changing lanes without a care in the world. If only they had seen the consequences of a traffic accident, maybe they would rethink their decisions to break the law.

His motorcycle, which he'd bought on a whim, was parked under the lip of the building. Cuddy had given him permission to park right up next to the building on days like today. She had only said yes to avoid arguing with him. She knew that it would cost more in the long run if she disagreed with him. So she said yes and he was to work in the clinic an extra half hour. He never did, and either she didn't notice or she didn't care. He wasn't going to risk bringing it up.

He slipped his cane in the spot where he always did and was getting ready to strap his backpack to the back of the bike when Wilson came running up. "If you want to miss Cuddy and Cameron we'd better get the hell out of here. I just heard Cuddy asking Foreman if he'd seen you recently. I think she's up to no good."

"She's always up to no good," House remarked with a knowing smirk. "She is a woman after all. Here," he thrust his backpack into Wilson's hands, "you strap them down while I get my helmet on. It'll save us a few seconds and maybe we can escape." Wilson obliged without a question. House slipped his black helmet on and climbed onto the bike ready to start up the engine. "Where the hell am I taking? I can never keep track of all the motels you stay in."

"If it's okay I would rather stay at your place tonight," Wilson stated as he climbed onto the motorcycle behind House. "I am so tired of all the noise and the weird smells that eminent from the other rooms."

"Your ass is sleeping on the couch," House remarked as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. He turned his head to the side so that Wilson could hear him better. "You may want to hold onto something, or risk the chance of falling off. And if in the case you do fall, I'm not stopping."

Wilson may have said something in return but House turned his head to look ahead and saw Dr Cuddy walking toward them, an umbrella in one hand and a frown on her face. The bike lurched forward as he stepped on the gas petal. The sudden motion caught Wilson off guard and he was thrown into House's back. He wrapped his arms around his friend's waist and held on tightly as they roared out of the parking lot, leaving Cuddy standing out front. As they drove along the roads he kept his head down, trying to keep the rain from pelting him in the face. He finally gave up and rested his head against House's back. Even through the jacket he could hear the slight increase in House's heartbeat.

Meanwhile, House was trying to find any reason he could to keep them from reaching his apartment as long as possible. He still wasn't quite sure of all the thoughts and emotions that coursed through his body but there was something about having Wilson's arms around his midsection that felt right to him. It sent a feeling race through his body, something he hadn't felt in years. A feeling he never wanted to go away.


	3. With You

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Three: With You**

He listened to the ticking of the clock in the living room. The apartment was dark, and aside from the ticking clock and the beat of his own heart, it was quite. Wilson was sleeping soundly on the couch where he'd crashed some time ago. House turned to look at the red numbers of his alarm clock. It was already midnight. Wilson had been sleeping for two hours and here he lay, still awake, unable to shut off his mind and close his eyes to drift into the world of dreams and slumber. He was tired of being awake all night only to fall asleep three hours before the alarm went off.

He rolled onto his side, turning his back to the clock and its glaring reminder of the time. closing his eyes he hoped to drift off. Instead he saw visions of Wilson. Wilson smiling. Wilson laughing. Wilson yelling at him. The oncologist was another baffling human being he didn't understand. He kept pushing and shoving but Wilson, for some reason, was always there. Sure, there had been times when they tried avoiding each other, and after some arguments they would go days without talking. Yet, it never lasted. Before long Wilson was joining him for lunch or offering his insight on cases. Rolling onto his back he stared at the ceiling. He didn't understand why someone would stick around and be his friend. Chase still hadn't quite forgiven him for the punch. Was there some burning desire inside of Wilson that kept him around, or did he see something in House that the others couldn't?

Grumbling, frustrated, and tired of the endless questions working through his mind House grabbed his cane and left his bedroom behind. Wilson was sleeping on his side. He looked almost peaceful, like an angel. House smiled as he remembered the night he'd placed Wilson's hand in the glass of water. It hadn't been funny when Wilson sawed half-way through his cane, though, causing him to fall to the hard tile floor in the hospital.

He jabbed Wilson in the side with his cane. "Wake up."

Wilson stirred, opening his eyes to glance at his watch. He rolled onto his back as House sat on the wooden coffee table. "House, it's the middle of the night. Go back to bed."

Instead of taking Wilson's advice he stood, walking toward the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge. "One cannot go back to bed if one has never been to bed to begin with," he stated as he left the room.

Now unable to sleep Wilson sat up on the couch rubbing what little sleep he had from his eyes. "What the hell are you mumbling about?"

"I can't sleep," he replied in a voice that basically said if he wasn't sleeping no one else was. He plopped on the couch beside Wilson, placing his right leg on the coffee table and taking a sip of his beer.

"So I have to suffer because you have insomnia? Maybe I should have had you take me to the motel. At least I would be dreaming of blissful things," Wilson pointed out slightly annoyed.

"You can stop lying to me," House told him, placing the beer on the table. "Stop behaving like a teenager in middle school. No one is going to go spreading rumors about you sleeping over at my place. Hell, the people at work could care less."

"House, I want to sleep," Wilson said. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped above his knees. "Go take a sleeping pill. Drink warm milk. Hell, you could go knock yourself out with your cane and I wouldn't care. I just want to sleep."

"Why should you get to sleep while I spend the night wide awake?" House asked him. "That doesn't really seem fair to me. Just how much sleep do you have to have to tell someone they're dying? It doesn't take a lot of energy to pass on news like that."

Wilson ignored him, standing from the couch and walking toward House's bedroom. If House wasn't going to be sleeping than the bed would be unoccupied and it seemed like such a waste to him. The bed had to be more comfortable than the couch. He pulled the cover back and slid under it. His head hit the soft pillow. He was happy to not hear House following him. Closing his eyes he was preparing to fall asleep again when the other side of the bed dipped under the weight of a body. The series of jostling movements kept him from drifting away on the cloud of slumber.

"I have no idea what you're doing over there but I pray that it isn't anything dirty," remarked Wilson with a hesitant tone to his voice.

"Keep your pants on," House said. "I'm just getting comfortable in my own bed, which you are now occupying. Now if someone found out about this it would keep the rumor mill running for weeks, maybe even months. You could ruin my reputation as a loner."

"You mean your reputation as an ass," Wilson corrected as he rolled onto his back. House was laying on top of the blanket, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. "And if that was meant as a threat, forget about it. I am not going to get out of this bed only to have you follow me back into the living room. I don't care if you can't get to sleep. I have a meeting tomorrow morning that I would really like to be on time for. So if you don't mind, I am going to bed now."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you suck at sleepovers?" House mumbled. Wilson, who had rolled back onto his side, pretended to not hear.

Another hour passed in which House studied the backside of Wilson. He kept thinking back to a few months ago when they had both been living here. It was then that things had begun to get confusing, when the feelings started. He had hoped that having Wilson back at his apartment would change things but there was still a wall between them. If only he could stop being such an ass. How was he going to tell Wilson about the thoughts, the emotions, and the desires if he couldn't even get Wilson to care that he couldn't sleep? Moving slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his cane. He left the room, leaving Wilson to sleep alone in the bed. He placed his cane on the coffee table and lay on the couch. Grabbing the blanket that Wilson had been using he was soon sound asleep.


	4. Points of Authority

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Four: Points of Authority**

The ride to work the next day wasn't nearly as thrilling as it had been when driving home the night before. For one thing, it wasn't raining so Wilson didn't have to lay his head against House's back. And Wilson, annoyed over House's antics from the night before had only placed his hands on either side of House, right below his ribs. House felt like kicking himself for the way he acted. Once again he had pushed Wilson when he wanted to do just the opposite. Unlike last night he didn't try to prolong the drive, making it to the hospital at a reasonable rate. No sooner did he park the motorcycle then Wilson climbed off, taking his briefcase with him. He didn't utter a thank you or look back at House. He just disappeared into the hospital. A few minutes later House followed after him.

The place was a buzz like usual and he tried to use the inflow of nurses and doctors as cover. A foot away from the elevator he heard Cuddy calling his name. Instead of turning around to see what his boss wanted from him know he rolled his eyes and stepped into the elevator. The doors closed before she could reach him. Not one person in the elevator said anything to him. He liked it that way. He didn't even know half the people anyway. As soon as the doors opened he walked briskly down the hallway intent on getting to his office and getting the door locked before Cuddy could chase him down. He wasn't so lucky.

Opening the door he found Cameron sitting in one of the chairs across from his desk. He thought about backing out of the room but she turned to him, a smile on her face, before he got the chance to make his escape. He strode into the room and dropped his backpack on the floor beside his desk.

"Why are you in my office? How many times do I have to turn you down before you get the hint?" he asked her as he sat in his chair. "Or do you like rejection as much as you like broken men?"

She glared at him. "I'm here because I figured that you would get passed Cuddy and lock yourself in you office. However, one way or another, we are going to talk to you. Why don't you just get it done and over with?"

The door opened and they both turned. Expecting to see Cuddy they were surprised to see Wilson instead. He had a folder in his hands. When he looked up he was just as surprised to see Cameron. "Am I interrupting something, 'cause I can always come back in a few minutes."

"I was just trying to convince Cameron here that she has no chance with me," House remarked. Wilson didn't like the twinkle he saw in the older doctor's eye. "Why don't you tell her that you slept at my place last night? Tell her about all the fun we had. Maybe then she'll leave me alone."

"No, she won't be leaving you alone, not just yet" Cuddy answered before Wilson could get out a word.. She came in the door behind Wilson, making sure to close it behind her. She stood in front of the door instead of walking further into the office. "I'm glad that you're here, Wilson. As House's only best friend-" Cameron tried to hide a smile- "you should hear this, too."

"Hear what?" House smiled, "Are you planning to throw a party in my honor?"

The glare he received from Cuddy shut him up. He had never seen the fire in her eyes burn so bright before. He racked his brain trying to figure out what he could have possibly done to piss her off in such a manner. He came up with at least ten answers from this week alone. And it was only Wednesday.

"Cameron brought something very interesting to my attention yesterday," she started off, crossing her arms over her chest. "I hear that you didn't actually spend two months in rehab like you were supposed to. Instead you spent the time in your apartment doing only god knows what. Don't even tell me what you did, " she added quickly when she saw the look on House's face. "Not only am I pissed that you lied to me, but you also lied to the courts and the police. House, you could end up in jail this time."

He began tossing the ball he'd been playing with yesterday from hand to hand. "The courts can't do anything. The people in charge released me. I'm a free man. How many times do I have to tell you people that I don't have a damn problem?"

"I don't know how you fooled them, House," Cuddy replied with anger creeping into her voice. "But I am tired of this hospital being under fire because you have to see how far you can push things. Well, it's not going to happen anymore."

"Are you going to threaten to take away my Vicodin again?" House asked with amusement. "You always use the same threat but you never have the balls to go through with it."

She smiled and it sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, I'm not threatening to take away your Vicodin. Cameron has thoroughly searched your office and removed every pill, and I have taken the liberty of banning anyone in the pharmacy from giving you Vicodin. In fact, any time that the drug is prescribed I am to hand it out personally. You will shape up."

"Or else what? You call my mommy and tattle on me?" House patronized.

"Or you'll find yourself without a job," Cuddy answered flatly.

Wilson opened his mouth to protest.

Cuddy raised a hand to cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Wilson. If I find that you are helping him in any way you will be placed on a leave of absence until his addiction is solved." That said Cuddy left with Cameron following right behind her like a lost puppy dog.

House smiled, taking the bottle of pills from his pocket that he had picked up yesterday. "Jokes on them, I guess. I have at least a weeks worth of medication right here. And when it's gone, I'll find some other way to get my hands on it."

"Didn't you hear a word that she said?" Wilson actually yelled at him. "You're going to lose your job, House. Don't you care at all?"

He leaned back in his chair and resumed tossing the ball from hand to hand. "Oh please, you didn't actually take that seriously did you? She wouldn't fire me in a million years. The hospital can't afford to lose me and she knows it."

Wilson leaned forward on House's desk. He had completely forgotten why he had come to House's office in the first place, the folder nothing more than a memory at the moment. "House, I'm asking you as a friend, please, just give up the pills."

House didn't answer him for a few seconds but when he did he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I don't need a friend." He didn't have the strength to say the rest of the sentence. Wilson sighed in frustration before tearing out of the office. And once again that morning House felt like kicking himself for being such a jerk.


	5. Crawling

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Five: Crawling**

The sound of the rain beating a rhythm on his window drowned out the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. It kept reminding him that he should be at work instead of at home. The way the hands moved, slowly inching forward every minute that went by. He hated the fact that he was sitting here watching time slip by at a snail's pace, or so it seemed. If he watched the clock the time moved slow but once he took his eyes off of it time flew by faster than he could comprehend. According to the clock it was now only two in the afternoon, not that anyone could tell with the dark clouds and rain. He still couldn't believe that the day had played out the way it had, as if it were some sort of TV show or even a made for TV movie.

Tired of just sitting there he hobbled over to his piano and sat heavily on the bench. His hands went to the keys without thought and before he knew it a tune was weaving its way through the apartment. The notes were sad, the song a tale of sorrow, of heartbreak and regret. He poured all his unhappiness into playing, letting his fingers dance over the keys while his mind wandered. He thought about Wilson and the last time he had seen him that day, how defeated and unhappy the oncologist had appeared. It took all his will power not to walk up to him and apologize. If only he could get passed his damn pride everything would work out. But without his pride he was no better than the rest of them. He never wanted to be like the rest of them, and yet, with every day that went by he longed to feel the way they did without having to hide it.

He slammed his hands down on the keys creating a deafening sound. The pain in his leg was throbbing fiercely; it felt like millions of needles being stuck into his muscle all at once. He hated it. There was no way to make the pain go away. Not after Cuddy had confiscated his only bottle of pills. Had Tritter never come into his life he would still have an apartment full of half-empty bottles. Of course, if Tritter had never come into his life none of this would be happening. He would still be at work trying to teach his team how to think outside the box.

The knock at the door startled him. When he looked to his enemy, the clock, he saw that only an hour had passed since he sat at the piano. Three in the afternoon, who could possibly be calling on him?

"If you're not giving away free pizza or loaded with pain medication, get lost," he yelled. He began to play a new piece. Like the last one it had depressive undertones. The knock continued. "Go away," he yelled more loudly.

"House, open the door," Wilson yelled back. "I need to talk to you."

He stopped playing. Why would Wilson be here instead of at work, where he should have been to begin with? Having left his cane by the couch he limped to the door and opened it just a crack before taking off toward the kitchen. Maybe an alcoholic beverage would ease the pain in his leg. Maybe if he drank enough he'd get lucky enough to pass out. He wouldn't feel the pain. Wilson stepped into the apartment. His hair was matted down from the rain. House found that he liked the look of him that way.

"What do you want? Why aren't you at work playing doctor?"

"Because I'm here to take you back to the hospital," answered Wilson. "I talked things over with Cuddy. She's willing to let you come back in and finish out the week. After that, well, she hasn't decided. Forget about the Vicodin and I think everything will be alright."

"Why do you guys keep insisting that I have a problem?" he yelled. He hadn't meant to but the pain in his leg was really starting to get to him. "Did you ever stop to think about it? I mean, really think about it? I didn't take a single pill after being shot. Month went by and I touched nothing. Does that sound like someone addicted to painkillers?"

Wilson's shoulders slumped. "No, you're right it doesn't, but the minute the pain came back you picked up right where you left off," he pointed out. "I have no problem with you taking the medication, House. I've gotten over that. But I will not watch you ruin your career because of something you don't need."

"How do you know if I need ot or not? Have you ever suffered the pain of muscle death?" House was filling irate and irritated. He wanted the pain in his leg to go away.

"No, I can't honestly say that I have," sighed Wilson. The fight had already gone out of him. He couldn't understand why House had to be such an ass at times. Why did everything have to be his way or no way? Hadn't the man ever heard of comprimising? "Look, are you coming back to work or not?"

House took a sip of his beer before he answered. "No, I'm not going back to work. Tell Cuddy that I'm not going to argue with her anymore."

"What does that mean?" Wilson knew that House would never give up, thus meaning that the words had an ulterior motive. He hated the creeping feeling that was filtering throughout his body. He knew that whatever House was going to say next wouldn't be a pleasant thing.

"It means that if precious Cuddy wants me back at work she can walk her happy little ass down here and ask me herself," he clarified for the oncologist.

"That's what I figured," he said. Without another word he left House's apartment to make his way back to the hospital. Cuddy wasn't going to be happy to hear the message he had to deliver but what else could he do? When House made up his mind it was impossible to change it.

House watched the door close behind Wilson wishing that the oncologist would stay instead of leaving. It would have been nice to have some company, even better to have the company of Wilson, the one thing that was constantly on his mind lately. He slammed his open palm against the counter in frustration. At that moment a stab of pain sent shockwaves through his leg. The intense pain was too much, bringing him to his knees. He bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming. After some agonizing minutes that seemed like hours the pain began to recede back to the constant throb. The sat on the floor, leaning back against the counter. Had anyone walked into his apartment at that exact moment they would have seen the tears in his eyes.


	6. Runaway

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Six: Runaway**

Wilson stood outside the apartment for a few minutes, a mass of thoughts running through his mind and emotions rushing through his body. He tried so hard to understand House with every fiber of his being, and yet, he never felt like he knew the man. He never could understand why House chose to suffer instead of giving into the facts that were laid out before him. He never understood why House constantly tried to push people away. He wished he could understand why even with all the horrible things that transpired between them he wanted to be with House. Not as a friend, as something more. House rarely showed him any means of kindness and still he found himself seeking out the companionship of the diagnostician.

He let his hand slip from the doorknob and made his way back out into the pouring rain. He never confessed to anyone the true meaning of his marriage falling apart. Yes, his wife had been having an affair but things were as much his fault as hers. Maybe if he had spent less time at work and more time at home things would have worked out. However, that meant more time with his wife and less time with House. There was something about the abrasive doctor that he couldn't get enough of. Perhaps it was the way the other man just didn't gave a damn. It very well could have been the familiarity of their friendship, not matter how rocky it was at times. None of it made sense to him and he was beginning to think that it never would.

He had come to talk House into returning to work, instead he found him suffering all because of some damned strive to always be right. Now he would return to the hospital to pass on the message to Cuddy who might very well get mad at him. They all basically saw him as the only friend that House had, and the only friend he would actually admit to having. Sure, Cameron had a thing for her boss but House never let it get anywhere beyond a professional stand point. Foreman and Chase, as far as Wilson could tell, were mainly afraid of the older man, though he couldn't figure out why. It could have something to do with House punching Chase.

He slid behind the wheel of his car, happy to be out of the pouring rain. As much as he hated the summer heat and the things the sun did to his body he couldn't wait for the sun to show its self. He was tired of the rain, tired of the cloud of doom and gloom that it brought to hang over the hospital. It wasn't the end of the world if House didn't return to work, was it? Cuddy wouldn't see it that way. She put up with too much shit from him over the years to let him go without a fight. But Wilson knew that House wouldn't give in. House never went out of his way to please others. It was always about him, and usually, the ideas and thoughts running through his mind turned out to be the truth. Maybe if the others actually admitted that they would see that his pills weren't an addiction. If he could get passed them than maybe he could get the others to see the same thing.

As he drove back to the hospital he tried to think of how to break the news to his boss. Things had been rocky for months now. At least the detective had disappeared from their lives, taking some of the stress with him. The friction between Cuddy and House had gotten worse, though. She was constantly on him about his painkillers, even up until the day he entered rehab. House had spent two days in there, and she wasn't even mad that he spent the rest of his paid leave at home. No, it was the fact that he was still 'using' that made her mad.

Water dripped from his hair and ran down his face in little rivers. It dripped of his coat creating tiny puddles as he walked toward Cuddy's office. He figured it would be best to just tell her the truth and get it done and over with. No sense in prolonging his own agony. He felt like a spy or some other form of informant as he knocked on the door. She beckoned him in. Wilson was surprised to find Cameron, Foreman, and Chase in attendance.

"Why are they here?" he asked gesturing to the younger doctors. He stood just inside the doorway, refusing to go further in the room. "Can't this just be between the two of us for once?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No, they have a right to now what is going on, as their jobs may be changing here shortly. What did he say, will he be coming back?"

"What do you think?"

"I thought as much," Cuddy sighed, falling back into her chair. "I can't believe he's being such a child. Doesn't he realize that his actions affect others, or does he just not care?"

Wilson glared at her. "You keep pushing him and you know he's going to fight you. He always has, and deep down you know that he's right. You're just trying to make it so that your best doctor shines like a star in the darkest sky. It has nothing to do with his wellbeing. Everything is about the damn hospital. He attracted 'bad publicity' and you have to rectify it. However, you're not willing to admit that your plan to sober him up is backfiring and now you've lost the best damn doctor this state has ever seen. The hospital is going to suffer in the long run. Who's going to take on the cases that usually go to him? Those three?" he pointed at the silent group near her desk. "They're flying blind without him. He has tried to teach them to think out of the box but they still don't have the hang of it. I can't believe you would put the reputation of this hospital before friendship and saving lives. You have never done that before. Why change now?"

"He has a problem," Cuddy said with a calm voice, the anger flashing in her eyes only.

"What problem?" Wilson nearly yelled. "You mean those damn Vicodin pills? He can't be an addict. Don't you understand that? Addicts go out of their way to get a fix. After his surgery he experienced no pain, and he didn't take any pills. That is not the behavior of an addict. You're trying to fix something that isn't broken."

Cuddy turned her attention to House's team. "You guys will have to handle any cases that come your way without the help of House. From this point on he is no longer part of this hospital. He can return when his drug problem has been solved. Until then, you will be on equal playing fields. Don't disappoint me. Now if you don't mind," she turned her gaze to Wilson and he felt a chill run down his spine, "I would like to be alone with Dr Wilson."

Foreman and Chase left without saying a word. Cameron gave him a sympathetic smile that was hidden from Cuddy. No matter how much Cuddy wanted them to stay away from House Cameron would pay him visits, or at least try. House didn't really seem like he was up for visitors. Once alone Cuddy stepped around her desk and walked up to him.

"Where do you get off reading me the riot act in front of them?"

"Where do you get off taking pills from a man in pain?"

"He's only running from the truth and he managed to blind you somehow, Wilson," she said in a soft voice.

He looked at her, right in the eye. "You are the one who is blind."


	7. By Myself

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Seven: By Myself**

The pain in his leg kept him from getting up off the floor where he had been sitting for the last few hours. He'd lost count of the time that had gone by, which was probably a good thing. He sat there, his leg stretched out in front of him in hopes that it would take away some of the pain. It wasn't working that way. It had finally stopped raining. The sun sat on the horizon on night struggled to push away another day. Before too long the others would be done with work. Would any of them stop by to check on him? He hoped that Wilson would be by again. He wanted so badly to apologize for being cruel earlier. He just wanted someone to be with him. The pain was causing him to sweat. And for the last two hours he'd had to pee but was too afraid to move for fear of making things worse. He felt like crying, it's not like anyone would see him doing it. His pride wouldn't suffer any.

He had to learn to let go. He had to stop pushing people away and accept their help when they afford it. That made him chuckle. How many times had he told himself those same words? He never changed. He was too comfortable with who he was, unwilling to change for anyone. And why should he change? Why couldn't people just accept him for who he was? People blamed him for pushing them away. Did they ever once stop to think that maybe it was them and not him? Maybe if they stopped pushing him he would be nicer, more friendly. All he had was his rude attitude to help him stay afloat. If he acted like he didn't care than they wouldn't bother trying to close to him, and there wouldn't be any emotional pain in the longer run.

But there was always Wilson.

He wanted the oncologist to come back. He wanted to hear Wilson's voice as he tried to reason with him. He wanted to smell the unique scent that belonged solely to the other doctor. He wanted to look into those eyes and see someone who really cared about him. He wanted to feel loved. That was a feeling that had been void for so long. He wouldn't ever admit but he wanted Wilson to walk through that door and rescue him like some knight in shining armor. He wanted to be held, to feel wanted by someone. He was tired of sitting in the dark and the coldness. He was tired of feeling like he was on the outside looking in.

He also really needed to pee.

Lying on the floor beside him, well within reach, was his cane. It had been knocked to the floor when he fell. Maybe he could use it to help him get up without causing too much. He grasped it firmly in his hand, relieved to feel the familiarity of it. Gathering his courage he placed his left leg under him and braced his cane against the floor. Reaching up to the counter with his free hand he somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. He bit his lip as the pain coursed through his body. He leaned forward, into the counter, waiting for the feeling to pass. He wanted to throw up as the room spun a little.

Someone knocked on his door. Or was the knocking sound in his head? He looked toward the slab of wood. The room finally stopped spinning. The knock sounded again. Maybe his wish had come true and Wilson was paying him another visit. He half expected the doctor to return anyway. Unless of course he would rather stay at the hotel. Slowly he began to make his way to the door. The expanse of the living room seemed to grow until it was the length of a football field. At one point he stopped, closing his eyes. The person outside his door kept knocking, rapping the wood every few minutes. They were pretty intent on seeing him.

"I'm coming," he grumbled under his breath. His voice barely audible even to him. When he reached the door he leaned against it for added support, trying to collect himself before facing whoever was on the other side. Another few seconds passed. When the knocker once again rapped on the door it sent off a pounding in his head. He slipped his hand around the cool metal of the doorknob and turned it. Opening the door a crack he peered out into the hall. "What do you want?"

"I came to see how you were doing," Cameron replied. She tried smiling but it didn't work. "You look like hell."

"Well I feel damn peachy so you can leave me alone," he replied making an attempt to close the door.

She stuck her foot between the door and the frame. "House, Cuddy is close to firing you because you have to be such a stubborn jerk. Why don't you just let her win this for once?"

Even in the fog of pain he was able to smile at her in a sarcastic way. "Why are you really, Cameron? You don't give a damn about Cuddy and her feelings. Is it because you've been left with Foreman and Chase and the boys won't let you play? Or is it because I'm a damaged man?"

His words made her scowl. "I came to check up on a friend. Why do you have to be so rude when someone takes an interest in you? God, House, do you realize what you're doing? If word got out to Tritter he'd be happy that he was right. Do you really want him to feel that satisfaction?"

"Leave me alone," he grumbled, his voice thick. He went to close the door again, only to run into her foot. Without a second thought he raised his cane and brought it down on her foot. She swore as she dance backward, giving him the chance to close the door, making sure to lock it so she couldn't try to enter. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted Wilson, not Cameron. Why wasn't Wilson the one at the door?


	8. In The End

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Eight: In the End**

Like the last few nights he was unable to sleep. However, this time it wasn't because he was thinking about Wilson. The pain in his leg wouldn't let him rest. He had tried everything he could to get rid of it, or to at least lessen the severity of it. There had been the bottle of Aleve that now lay empty on the floor of the kitchen, the painkiller having proved useless. He didn't even know why he had them, or where they had come from. He tried a bag of ice with a towel wrapped around it in hopes of numbing the pain. When that didn't work he tried it without the towel. The pain kept throbbing. He thought about the time he had been made to detox and the immense amount of pain that he'd suffered. It had gotten so bad that he smashed his own hand, breaking at least two of his fingers. He thought about doing it again. He thought about taking the heaviest object he could find and dropping it on his foot, or slamming his hand in the door. He wanted the pain to be gone so bad.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt a shiver run through his body. If he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply he could still smell the hints of Wilson from the night before. The doctor hadn't returned for another night. House wasn't surprised. The antics of the night before combined with his attitude earlier in the day probably didn't help matters any. If only he could stop being such a jerk, even if it was only for Wilson. If he could be nice to Wilson and his normal abrasive self to everyone else, maybe there would be some improvement in their friendship.

He wanted to think of a way to apologize to Wilson but the pain in his leg wouldn't let him concentrate. Restless, he grabbed his cane and hobbled into the central part of his apartment. Streetlights tried to glow through his drawn curtains. Outside he could hear the tires of passing cars on the still damp pavement. None of them stopped in front of his apartment. It was nearly midnight, who was he expecting to show up? By now everyone he knew was sleeping soundly in their beds, dreaming of things he could care less about. His mind was on stopping the pain.

In the kitchen he kicked the empty Aleve bottle across the floor. It came to rest under one of the counters, nearly out of view. He wasn't really thinking as he reached into the drawer beside the sink and pulled out a knife. His eyes settled on the sharp edge of metal. It caught the soft glow of the light above the sink and glittered, beckoning him to use it. He propped his cane against the counter and leaned back into the same counter, taking as much weight as he could off his leg. Was he really going to do this? Had it gotten so bad that he needed to cut himself in order to handle the pain in his leg?

He pressed the sharp edge to the skin of his arm. As it came to rest against his skin he felt it speak to him. He heard it urging him on. He knew that there was no turning back now. He had to do it. He had to relieve the pain in his leg. Closing his eyes he drew the blade across his skin, imagining it to be a scalpel. Why didn't he have one of those floating around his apartment to begin with, he thought. When he opened his eyes he looked down at his arm. The blood was slowly oozing from the ugly gash he had created. It felt wonderful, the endorphins running through his blood. Without hesitation he did it again. This time the cut was longer, deeper. He didn't care that he was self-mutilating, he loved the feel. And for a few seconds his mind forgot all about the pain in his leg. When he made the third cut it bled even more. His lower arm was shaded in red, the blood racing from the wounds. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his arm. He didn't even bother to clean the wounds. He didn't care.

As he hobbled out of the kitchen he took one long down the hallway to his bedroom and opted instead to crash on the couch. At least it was closer. He fell onto the cushion, propping his leg up on the coffee table. In minutes he fell asleep, his mind finally able to concentrate long enough to pass the message on that his body needed rest. His dreams were a mass of images that he couldn't understand. At one point he was jostled awake by the sound of tires squealing on wet pavement, but he was back into the world of his dreams before he even registered that he was awake. This time he dreamed of Cuddy. She was an evil queen ruling over a kingdom of peasants that she loved to order around. Every time someone defied her she sent them to the dungeon and they were never seen again.

The second time he woke up it was morning. He had slept in a sitting position and his lower back ached. His butt was numb and his right leg was partially numb. Unfortunately, he felt the familiar pins and needles tingling sensation as his nerves began to come back online. Before too long his leg would be a well of pain again. He looked down at his arm. The once white towel was now a mix of varying shades of red and pink. He tried to move from the couch, but the room began to spin as a dizzy spell took hold of him. He'd lost too much blood. It would be a hazardous move to get up and go to the kitchen for the orange juice that sat in the fridge. Chances were he would fall, causing more pain, if it was possible. Now more than ever he wished that someone would show up and save him from himself.


	9. A Place for my Head

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Nine: A Place for my Head**

He must have drifted off for the next thing he knew someone was pounding on his door. He tried yelling for them to come in but his throat was dry. His words were no louder than a soft whisper in the wind. Then he remembered, even in they could hear him the door was locked. He had locked it to keep out Cameron. The only way to answer their insistent pounding would be to get up and answer the door himself. He braced himself with his cane, putting as much weight as he could on it. As he stood the room took a violent spin nearly sending him right back into the comfort and safety of the couch. The person outside was more insistent than Cameron, pounding on the door nearly every minute. If he didn't know any better it sounded like they were trying to knock the door down. On slow, measured steps he made his way around the couch heading toward the door. Walking made the pain in his leg worse. His shoulder screamed in pain as he put weight into the cane. He wanted to numb his entire body, to be free of the pain that kept him in a tightly wrapped cocoon.

He finally made it to the door. Unlike last time he didn't bother to try collecting himself. He wouldn't have been able to even if he wanted to. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, nearly stumbling backward. He felt lightheaded. Sitting, or even fainting, was beginning to look like a good idea. Once again the room began to spin violently around him, his vision blurred and he felt his legs giving out. A pair of arms caught him before he crumbled to the floor in a heap. He tried to stand, to offer some form of help as he was dragged back to the couch. The sound of the door closing didn't even reach through his fogged mind. He welcomed the familiar feeling of the cushion as he sank into it. With his eyes closed he let his head rest against the back. Whoever it was that had been admitted into his apartment was now currently rooting around in the kitchen.

A few seconds later he felt a cool glass pressed into his right hand. "Drink this," ordered Wilson, his voice heavy with emotion. House opened his eyes, drinking the glass of orange juice in one gulp. It felt good as it went down. Wilson took the glass and placed it on the table. "What the hell were you thinking, House?"

"The pain…" his voice was still scratchy but better than it had been.

"You figured cutting into your arm and just letting it bleed was a good idea?" This time Wilson didn't hold back the anger in his voice. "You could have killed yourself, you know that." He began to unwrap the towel. "And judging by the shitty job you did of wrapping this I'm going to guess that you didn't even clean the wounds. You know better than this, House. Think of all the people you see, all the times you hear of blood poisoning."

"I'm sorry," House apologized as Wilson left him sitting on the couch. He heard him rooting around in the kitchen again. When he returned House answered him before he could ask the pressing question, "It's all in the bathroom closet."

Wilson disappeared for a few minutes, returning with his arms full of supplies. He placed the rubbing alcohol, the cotton balls, the box of bandages, a roll of gauze, and an ace-bandage on the coffee table. Sitting beside his items he took House's hand in his and drew his arm close. "Damn," he hissed as the rest of the towel fell away. The area surrounding each cut was red with dried blood. Wilson shook his head as he poured rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball. He dabbed at the skin near the cut, the blood washing away. "This isn't going to make her back down, House."

"Not for her…the pain…" House looked at Wilson, a new hopeful thought forming in his mind. "Vicodin?"

Wilson glared. "I'm not going to bring you drugs. Cuddy is on a warpath. With my luck she would catch me giving you the goods and fire me on the spot. No thank you. You're just going to have to find another way to deal with the pain. And if you insist on cutting, please clean them."

House winced as the alcohol seeped into the open cuts on his arm. "You are all afraid of nothing. She can't run the hospital without us. Well," he thought, "she can but it won't be the same. I'm sure that Chase and Foreman spend most of their time arguing while Cameron is free to do what she pleases." The look on Wilson's face pretty told him he was right. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm worried about you," he sighed, placing a bandage on the cuts. "I know that you're in pain and that you need some form of medication. And it's a good thing that I showed up, seeing as you've sliced yourself wide open."

"At least it cleared my mind long enough to let me fall asleep," House muttered as he watched Wilson wrap the gauze around the bandage. "I'm sorry," he apologized again.

This time Wilson actually heard the words. He stopped what he was doing and looked at House, not believing in what he just heard. Never had he expected to hear those words pass the lips of House. "Well, that was unexpected," he said slowly.

House figured he was on a roll and might as well keep going. "I'm sorry for being such an ass yesterday. I can't let Cuddy win this battle, Wilson. If she wins then I'm admitting that I have a problem when I don't. This is one time when I'm standing my ground because it's the right thing to do, not because I want to piss someone off." Wilson didn't say anything as he wrapped the ace-bandage over the gauze and secured it. "I'm happy that you're here," House said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Wilson looked at him again, this time he was caught off-guard. "Excuse me?"

"I said that I was happy you're here," House repeated a little more loudly. "Listen, I have been trying to get through this jumble of thoughts and I think I finally found my way through. I finally figured out what I want in life…." House let the words linger in the air, chewing his bottom lip before getting up the courage to say what he really wanted to get out. "And I want you."

For a moment Wilson didn't do or say anything. He just sat there, staring at House, making him greatly uncomfortable. Meanwhile, House wanted nothing more than to take the words back. It wasn't his nature to show a sign of weakness and that is exactly what he was doing. He shifted under the steady gaze of the oncologist. In a surprising movement Wilson moved from the coffee table to the couch, sitting beside House. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. House rested his head on Wilson's shoulder and that's how they sat until Wilson had to return to the hospital.


	10. Forgotten

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Ten: Forgotten**

Wilson strolled into the hospital with a purpose in his step and determination written clearly on his face. He had left House sleeping soundly in his bed just a few minutes ago. The entire drive back to the hospital he worried and fretted, nearly turning around twice before reaching the hospital parking lot. He didn't like the idea of leaving House alone in his apartment now that he was in enough pain to self-mutilate. Seeing his friend in such pain, the cuts on his arm that he created himself, he wanted nothing more than to run to the pharmacy and get his hands on a bottle of Vicodin. The only problem was, he hadn't been lying. Cuddy was checking every prescription of Vicodin to make sure it went to the patient it was intended for. Wilson was no longer allowed to prescribe it, and neither were the members of House's team. If they had a patient that needed it they had to consult with Cuddy first. Much to the dismay of House, his boss was not going to back down this time.

His anger made him act without thinking as he strolled right into Cuddy's office. He didn't even care that Chase was sitting in one of the chairs and some unknown older person was with him. "I hope you're happy with yourself," Wilson said loudly, his anger pouring forth. "You are just as bad as he is, you can't let things go. Instead you have to let them escalate. You want him to break and he won't because he's too damn sure of himself that you'll be the first to give in. and you know what? At the rate this petty disagreement is going, you're going to get him killed."

Cuddy offered the old man an apologetic and embarrassed smile. "Please forgive Dr Wilson, he's having a bad day." She turned her fiery gaze on the oncologist. "Can this wait? I have company and you rudely barged in."

"Like I give a flying fuck," Wilson continued. He glanced at Chase momentarily and saw the confusion written all over the Aussie's face. The old man was sitting quietly in his chair. "This can't wait until tomorrow. There may not be a tomorrow. Why don't you just go down to his apartment and apologize? Make sure you bring a bottle of Vicodin with you though, otherwise he won't let you in.

"I'm not bringing him Vicodin," she snapped. "We're supposed to be breaking him of the habit, not furthering his dependency on it. He's just trying to play on your sympathies. I don't know how he got you wrapped tightly around his finger but you're doing exactly what he wants you to do."

Wilson opened his jacket and withdrew a clear plastic bag. He threw it on her desk. "Am I? At least someone cares enough to stop by and check on him. He's cutting himself because of the pain. Hell, he could barely stand using his own strength. I had to drag him to the couch after he answered the door. Why can't you just let him have the medication? He functions like a normal human being when he takes it. At this rate you're going to sit by while he kills himself."

Cuddy had taken the plastic bag in her hand. Inside was the towel covered in blood. She looked at it, her eyes taking in all the blood that had been soaked up. She placed it gingerly on her desk. "He won't kill himself. He's too stubborn to give in."

"Are you so sure of that?" Wilson asked her, his hands on his hips. "What's to stop him from slitting his wrist? His mind is fogged by the pain in his leg. All he wants is relief. He might decided that death is the answer. When I went into the kitchen to get him some orange juice I found an empty bottle of Aleve on the floor. Thankfully I was happy to note that most of the pills had been dumped into the sink."

Cuddy stood. "Get out of my office, Wilson. I will not have you coming in here and accusing me of things I have no control over. I am tired of House trying to get his way. His behavior is unacceptable. He acts like he is the runner of this hospital but never takes the time to stop and think of the consequences. Get the hell out of my office or you'll find yourself without a job faster than you can blink."

Wilson glared at her but resigned to leaving the office. Chase was on his heels, coming through the door behind him before it could even close. "Is it true, is he hurting himself? Or is this some ploy to get Cuddy to bend to his will?"

"No, this isn't a ploy," Wilson answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's cutting himself and I don't think he really cares if he dies or not. It's only a matter of time before he breaks something. And after he does that, what then? Will she still refuse to give him any sort of painkiller? We have to find a way to get him some Vicodin or some other strong painkiller."

"We can't, not with Cuddy watching us like a hawk," Chase replied, looking over his shoulder through the glass doors into Cuddy's office. "She knows every prescription that leaves the pharmacy. Every single one," he emphasized.

Wilson sighed in frustration. He didn't know what to do. There had to be a way to help House before he hurt himself more. But without the ability of getting his hands on painkillers there wasn't anything he could do. "He feels forgotten, Chase. He's sitting in that apartment in the dark with only his thoughts for company and the pain in his leg is directing his mind to concentrate on ways to get rid of said pain. Things are going to get worse before they get better. The question is, how bad will they get before one of them gives in?"

"If I know House, he'll go as long as he can without budging. Cuddy will eventually come around. She'll have to," answered Chase. "Surely she can tell that things aren't working smoothly between Foreman, Cameron, and I. At this rate we're going to end up killing someone. We need House's direction. He's like a walking book of medical problems."

"Try paying him a visit," Wilson suggested as an idea began to form in his mind. "Maybe if you guys go to him to help diagnose your patients he'll realize what he's missing. Maybe he'll want to get better, or at least sit down and talk with Cuddy."

Chase shrugged his shoulders. "It's a shot. But do you really think it'll work?"

"There's only one way to find out," Wilson told him with some optimism.


	11. Pushing Me Away

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Eleven: Pushing Me Away**

He returned to House's apartment a few hours later. The last hours of his shift at the hospital had been treacherous. Every time he crossed paths with Cuddy he could feel the daggers produced by her glare. She couldn't believe that he had turned against her. He had once been her strongest ally in getting House off Vicodin. Now he had turned coat and wanted to let the diagnostician keep the painkillers. He no longer cared if House wanted to pop pills like they were candy. As long as it kept him out of pain and in his right mind, what harm was really being done? On leaving the hospital for the night he had felt the overwhelming sense of relief. He was free of Cuddy and her accusing glares. He was free of the task of delivering bad news. For at least a few more hours he wouldn't have to walk by House's empty office and wonder how the doctor was doing on his own.

This time he didn't bother to knock on the door. He had taken a key with him when he left earlier, leaving a note for House so as not to surprise him too much. The door was locked, as he had left it, and when he stepped inside the place was empty. Not a single light had been turned on in his absence as night fell. A stab of worry began to throb in his chest as he threw his coat over the back of the couch. He slipped his shoes off, leaving them behind the same couch.

"House?" he called as he reached over to flip on a lamp. The light washed away some of the shadows in the gloomy apartment. There wasn't a reply.

Feeling the worry grow he walked toward the bedroom, his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to admit to anyone, not even himself, that he was afraid of what he would find. What if House had awakened while he was back at work and hurt himself again? What if he had gone too far and was currently lying in his bedroom barely hanging on to life? The possible answer to that question terrified him. He rested his hand on the handle to the bedroom door, trying to gather enough strength to open the slab of wood. He had to prepare himself for every possible scenario.

With one last deep breath he opened the door.

The bedroom was as dark as the rest of the apartment so he couldn't see anything at first. He crossed the floor, making sure to shuffle his feet a little. He didn't want to accidentally step on House if he was lying on the floor. He mentally slapped himself in the back of the head for thinking one bad thought after the other. Where were all the positive thoughts? When had he started thinking of House as a weak and scared little boy instead of the stubborn and determined doctor that he really was?

Reaching out to one of the bedside lamps he flipped it on.

House wasn't lying on the floor. He wasn't lying on the bed either. A new fear began to creep in. Wilson felt the slight tightening in his chest as he tried to think of where House could have possibly gotten to. When he left earlier House didn't have much strength. Of course, a bit of sleep might have changed things. But the familiar motorcycle had been parked outside and the helmet was sitting inside the door to House's apartment, the keys placed on the coffee table; much the way it had been around noon. So where was House now?

He went through the apartment opening every closed door and turning on every darkened light. House wasn't anywhere in the apartment. It was empty, barren. He slipped his feet back into his shoes and grabbed his jacket. The idea of calling Cuddy or one of the others crossed his mind. But he brushed it away. What would they care?

He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He looked toward the front door of the apartment building wondering if maybe House had taken a cab or something. Starting toward the door he was stopped by the sound of someone's voice atop the flight of stairs.

"If you're looking for that angry doctor guy I saw him heading toward the back of the building," the woman said in an informing tone. "He didn't look too good."

Wilson turned to her, looking up toward the second landing. "When did he leave?"

"Oh, I'd say about ten minutes before you walked through that door," she replied, checking her watch to confirm the time.

Wilson left the building behind, racing onto the sidewalk and toward the back of the building. He stepped into the small yard between the apartment building and the building on the other side. It was dark and the sky was clouded so the moon offered no help in lighting his way. At one point he stepped in a puddle of rain water, or at least what he hoped was a puddle of rain water, soaking his shoe and sock. When he reached the back of the building he was dismayed to find the place empty, devoid of any human beings. Grumbling to himself he trekked back through the dark alley way, stepping in the same puddle as he went. The lady was missing from the second story landing when he entered the building and he figured that was a good thing. There were a few choice things he could have said to her.

Upon opening the door to House's apartment he found the missing doctor resting against the back of the couch, facing the door. House looked up at him, slightly startled by his sudden appearance.

"Where the hell were you?" Wilson asked forgoing all common pleasantries. "You about gave me heart failure, you know."

For a few minutes House didn't say anything. He just looked at Wilson who stood in the doorway, afraid that if he moved the walls would tumble around him and he would wake to find himself dreaming. He would have rather liked for that to happen. The pain in House's eyes was more than he could take. Without saying a word he crossed the short span between them and pulled the sullen doctor into an embrace. When House didn't return the embrace Wilson stepped back, feeling a bit embarrassed and somewhat hurt.

"I went outside to the dumpsters," House said, his voice clearer than it had been earlier.

"I looked outside," responded Wilson.

"The dumpsters are on that side," House pointed toward the far side of the building. "I had to throw away this little orange bottle I found. I couldn't take it anymore. It was sitting there, mocking me with its prescription label and promises of taking away pain. Only, it was empty. I wanted it gone so I threw it away."

"And you left all the lights off and locked the door before going around back?" Wilson asked, an eyebrow cocked. Would he ever understand the way House's mind worked or would he forever being trying to figure it out?

"Go away," House spoke in a hushed voice. "Go back to whatever hotel you've been sleeping in and leave me alone." Wilson didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. House continued rambling, with every word his voice got stronger. "Go away and don't come back. I don't want to see you at my door again. Don't stand on the other side like I don't know you're there, because I'll know. Just leave me alone. Run home to Cuddy and your precious cancer patients. Tell everyone I quit. I don't want to see any of you anymore. Get the hell out."

"House-"

"I said get out," his voice was on the verge of a shout.

Wilson, his head hanging low, a confused frown on his face, left House's apartment without another word. He didn't even care that he left his best coat behind. What could he have possibly done to piss of his friend? What had happened between lunch time and this evening to make House throw him out? Perhaps he was mistaken but he thought he had seen a new side of House earlier, a side that no one else knew existed. For once he thought House was actually going to open up to him and share a part of him that he chose to keep locked inside. And now, as Wilson looked back at the again dark apartment, he began to understand that he didn't know the first damn thing about his supposed best friend. And he hated the fact that his heart was shattering into a million pieces.


	12. Don't Stay

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Twelve: Don't Stay**

By all rights he should have been at work, not sitting on the floor outside of House's apartment. His butt was going numb and his lower back was beginning to hurt. Yet, he didn't care. Physical pain couldn't compare to the pain he felt in his heart. He didn't care if House knew he was sitting in the hallway just outside his apartment door. He didn't care if House had a problem with hit. For some reason he couldn't find the strength to go into work. He called to cancel all his appointments for the day in hopes that he would find the courage to knock on the door beside him. The only problem was, the courage hadn't shown up. And it was nearly lunch time. Maybe he could get Cuddy to fold if he stopped showing up to work. Then she'd be down two doctors. What would happen to her precious hospital without her top diagnostician and her top oncologist? She'd be in a world of pain. He smiled at that thought. Perhaps that's just what he needed to do. He could spend all his time sitting on the couch listening to House play his piano or strum the strings of his guitar. He loved listening to House play. The doctor had more talent than anyone gave him credit for.

Shifting his position he tried to get more comfortable. He crossed his legs, sitting Indian style. Eventually he was going to have to knock on the door or leave in defeat. Those were his only choices. It's not like he could sit here all day. His cell phone began to chirp, breaking the silence of the otherwise quite building. He jumped at the sudden unexpected sound. House as sure to hear it and come running. He reached into his pocket to shut it off just as the door beside him opened.

"Why are you sitting out her like a bum?" House asked him. Wilson noticed that he looked worse today. His eyes weren't their lovely shade of blue having paled from the pain. They betrayed the yearning for comfort and the desire to be free of every stab of pain that his leg brought him. Wilson instantly felt bad. House had asked him to stay away and he couldn't even do that. "Did we forget the art of speaking?"

"I came here to see you," he said in a hushed voice. He had taken his eyes off of House to look at the number on his phone. It was Cuddy calling. He put the now silenced phone back into his pocket. Let her call, he didn't care anymore.

"You've seen me, I have graced you with my presence," House remarked. "Now leave me alone." He turned around to go back into his apartment, planning to close the door behind him. Wilson quickly climbed to his feet and followed him into the apartment. He watched as House hobbled over to the couch where he just sort of fell onto it.

He closed the door softly behind him. "I came to talk to you."

"You are talking to me," House pointed out. "You could have called me. Who sits outside someone's door for,"- he paused to check his watch- "roughly seven hours and doesn't knock?"

"I do," replied Wilson a bit testy. "I thought we could talk about yesterday. About what you said to me."

"Obviously you didn't hear me the first time so I will say it again, leave me alone." House proceeded stretch his leg onto the coffee table. The grimace of pain didn't escape Wilson's detection.

"Why?" Wilson asked simply. There had to be an answer inside the abrasive doctor's head somewhere. He always had answers, and he was always willing to share them, even if no one cared to hear them.

House just looked at him. Then turned his attention to the latest issue of some medical journal that had been sitting on his coffee table. Wilson scowled at him. If he thought he was going to get away with ignoring him then House had another thing coming. It wasn't going to work that way. Not today. He had come here for a reason and he wasn't leaving until he finally had some answers.

He tore the magazine out of House's grip and threw it behind the couch. "Listen, I am not leaving this apartment until I get what I came here for. They say that turn-about is fair play. Well guess what, House? I'm going to play your game. I will pester you day and night with rude and obnoxious questions until I get what it is that I want."

The glare he received from House did little to shake him. He had seen the doctor punch out Chase for crying out loud. A little glare was nothing. "Did you ever stop to think that I don't have any answers? Why do you all think of me like some walking dictionary of information? I know medicine. I know diseases and the way they eat away at the human body. I know pain. But I don't know the answers to life's little mysteries. I don't even understand how I feel about you."

"But you admit that you feel something, right?" Wilson asked a bit hopeful. He was finally starting to get somewhere.

"I thought I did," remarked House, looking away. He had crossed his arms over his chest and Wilson couldn't help thinking that he looked like a little kid who didn't want to tell the truth. "Now I'm not so sure."

"What made you unsure?" Wilson asked as he sat on the edge of the coffee table. Now he was facing House and could see that the other man did indeed seem lost. "What did I do? I thought…"

"You're a sheep, Wilson. You run with the flock under the protection of Cuddy. You cower under her glare, you tuck your tail and run instead of staying and standing up for yourself," House explained. "I tried to teach Chase, Foreman, and Cameron to act like loners, to do what they felt was right and yet, they've turned into sheep too. To be honest, I'm disappointed with all of you. None of you have the balls to stand up to your boss. I'm crippled. I'm in pain. I am not giving in. I am not a sheep."

"If that's how you see things then I won't return to work, how about that?" Wilson asked him. "If I stop showing up than Cuddy will have to cave in. she can't run the hospital without both of us. Hell, your team can't even agree on one thing or another. She's losing and won't admit. Maybe my leaving would be the final straw."

House looked him right in the eye. "Leave me alone, Wilson. I don't want to hear about the hospital. I don't want to be reminded of it. Come back when Cuddy changes her mind. And bring her with you. Make sure she has some Vicodin. Until then, leave me alone. I don't want to see anyone at my door."

Once again Wilson felt defeated. He had some answers but not enough to satisfy him. However, he didn't want to push House any further. He didn't want to widen the gap that was growing between them. As he stood he noticed two new cuts on the upper half of House's left arm. He didn't say anything about them, choosing not to point them out. He retrieved the magazine, throwing it on the cushion next to the now sullen doctor.

Before leaving he left a parting message. "I won't stay, for now. But I will be back. I'm not giving up on you."


	13. Somewhere I Belong

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Thirteen: Somewhere I Belong**

The city kept going even after the sun fell. And he found himself leaning back against the wall of the hallway in his apartment. He wanted to sleep, to curl up and let the world wash away. But sleep wouldn't come when it felt like he had a dagger or something piercing his leg. He didn't care anymore about the tears that left his eyes to race down his cheeks. He didn't care if he appeared week. The pain seemed never ending. He wanted to be free, to escape. How? The last two cuts he'd given himself had done so very little in the way of easing his troubled mind. How could he find any peace when every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire? And the pain was forcing him to drive away Wilson when all he really wanted to do was acknowledge the way he felt for his friend. His life was slowly starting to unravel all because Cuddy was so damn sure he had a drug problem? How many days had gone by? He couldn't even remember. Surely if he was detoxing it would have began to wear off by now. But he wasn't detoxing. He didn't have a drug problem. He had a pain problem.

A seizure of pain gripped his body and he whacked the back of his head on the wall as he bit his lip to keep from yelling in pain. He wanted to fall to the ground and never get up again. He wanted to be six foot under and food for worms. At this point, anything would be better than being in such pain. No one would understand just how helpless he was feeling. Here he was, some great doctor, and he couldn't even control the pain in his own body. In a fit of frustration he threw his cane into the living room. It made a muffled thud as it hit the coffee table. His hands went to the side of his head, gripping fistfuls of hair. He gritted his teeth. If Cuddy could see him now would she give up the battle? Would she back down and let him have the pain medication that he so desperately needed? He had no problems getting her to bend to his will at the hospital but she was playing hardball now. She didn't have to see him suffering. Out of sight, out of mind. She probably thought he was home kicking back and watching TV, or something along those lines.

What he wouldn't give to be able to do just that.

He cried out, beating his fist against the wall time and time again until his knuckles bloodied. For a moment the pain in his hand brought him comfort. For just a moment, a fleeting second. Then it passed. He looked at the blood on his knuckles, the cuts on his arms. Did it mean anything to anyone besides Wilson? Why didn't anyone care? He felt like yelling at the top of his lungs. He felt like breaking something, watching it shatter the way his world was. He had to find some way out of the pain. Any way. Then he remembered the last time he had been forced off his medication. He broke his hand. Well, two fingers, but broken bones were easier to deal with and would distract his mind long enough to let him get some sleep. How lovely it would feel to sleep. When had he last slept and actually gotten anything from it?

As he stood in the hallway he tried to think of the best way to break his hand, to break anything. Then it came to him. Crying out in pain he hobbled to the kitchen to find the tool he wanted to do the job. It was where he left it. He grabbed the pestle and began to work away at the bone. Every hit was blissful. A few minutes later he felt the sharp pain and heard the crack as he broke the bone in his wrist. The agony in his leg went away instantly on his mind focused on this new pain, this new point of interest. He fell to the floor in relief, resting against the counter. He actually laughed. For the first time in days his leg didn't hurt as much. For the first time in days he didn't feel like jumping off a bridge and ending everything. It was heaven. And eventually, he drifted off to sleep, his mind tired and his body exhausted.

--------------------------------------------

Someone was pounding at his door. The sound roused him from his sleep. He wished that it hadn't. He was hit full force with the pain in his leg and in his broken wrist. Last night breaking a bone had been the best damn idea in the world. Now he was ready to kick himself in the ass for being so stupid. Whoever was at the door kept knocking. He knew it wasn't Wilson for the sheer fact that the door wasn't locked and Wilson would have just walked right on in. he didn't bother to try budging from his spot on the floor. His cane was in the other room. Walking would be too painful. What he wouldn't give to be numb from head to toe.

He watched the door. The knocking eventually faded. Someone jiggled the door handle and found that it wasn't locked. "House?" Cameron called tentatively as she opened the door a crack. She opened it further when he didn't answer her. He didn't think he could form the right words.

When she saw him sitting on the floor in the kitchen a hand went to her mouth. She dropped her bag and a folder on the floor to rush toward him. "What the hell….House, what have you done?"

She fell to the floor beside him. He watched as her eyes searched his body taking in the cuts, the bloodied knuckles, the ugly bruise covering his swollen wrist. He didn't care what thoughts were running through her mind. He had always seen Cameron as the weakest of his three students when it came to him. even though she fought him tooth and nail she was always willing to give in and let him have his way.

"The pain…" was all he could manage to get out and even that was too much for him to say.

Cameron shook her head in disbelief. "I though Chase was pulling my leg when he told me you were hurting yourself. I'm going to have to get you to the hospital to get your wrist bandaged. You broke it didn't you?" she asked him. He nodded in response. "Well, you're going to have to get up. I want to get your wrist checked and these cuts looked at. And then I think I'll have a talk with Dr Cuddy. Come on," she said, in an encouraging tone, "let's get you to your feet."

The idea of standing was enough to make him want to cry. Again.


	14. Lying From You

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Fourteen: Lying From You**

It had been just as bad as he thought it would be. Moving from the kitchen to Cameron's car too far longer than it should have. It hurt for him to move. Ever step was agony. She practically had to hold him upright as they made it slowly from his place. Once he was sitting in the car she returned to his apartment to retrieve her bag and the folder and to close the door. She drove like a maniac to the hospital. Now House knew what Wilson was talking about when he said it was an experience he never wanted to have again. House felt the same way. Unless of course, she was only driving that way to get him help faster. He would have abject to going to the hospital but there were two reasons he did want to go. One being that he might get some sort of painkiller to ease the pain. And right now, he didn't care what it was, as long as it did its job he would be happy. The second reason was to see Cuddy. He wanted her to see what he was going through. Maybe it would be enough to break her.

He didn't say anything as Cameron left him sitting in the car and disappeared inside the hospital only to return a few minutes later with a wheelchair. He really must have been out of it, for he sat in the wheel chair without arguing. She had grabbed his cane before leaving the apartment. Apparently she didn't think him capable of walking on his own. And for once, he agreed with her. He wasn't about to try walking. She wheeled him to one of the exam rooms in the clinic and from there things moved pretty fast. He was in and out of x-ray in record time. His cuts were looked over and treated. All the work was done by Cameron herself. For some reason she felt the need to protect his reputation as a strong, stubborn doctor that never rolled over. He thanked her for that in his mind only.

Cameron was wrapping a stiff bandage over his wrist when the door opened. Cuddy looked at the both of them in surprise. "What the hell is going on here?"

Cameron continued to wrap his broken wrist. He had resisted getting it placed in a cast. "I'm treating House the way a doctor should. If you have a problem with me handling a patient than say so, but it's my job."

"I have a problem with you handling this patient," Cameron pointed out. "You brought him to the hospital, Cameron. What if that's what he wanted you to do? Or have you forgotten, we have a pharmacy full of drugs?"

The glare that Cameron gave Cuddy nearly brought a smile to House. "I've kept an eye on him the entire time. He hasn't gotten his hands on anything. So why don't you go find someone else to torture?"

Cuddy was going to respond when the door opened again. This time it was Wilson. "Cuddy, I need to ask you…" The words died on his lips as he saw House sitting on the exam table and Cameron working finishing the bandage on his wrist. "House, this is a surprise." He closed the door.

"I want him out of the hospital. Now," ordered Cuddy, fire in her eyes. "I will not have him pulling some trick of his so that he can get his hands on a bottle of Vicodin." She realized that no one was listening to her. Wilson was quietly conversing with Cameron over the fact that House had broken his wrist. Cuddy refused to admit to either of them that she had pushed the doctor too far. But she knew that if she gave in now there would be no living with House. Things would only get worse. He'd break more and more rules, putting more patients in trouble, and getting the hospital into hot water. She couldn't have that. "Wilson, Cameron, my office. Now. Or pack your things and leave."

Like the sheep they were both Cameron and Wilson shuffled out of the exam room. Cuddy gave House a stern warning about staying in the room. But that was it. She didn't post a guard outside to keep an eye on him. The minute they were closed in her office he was off to the pharmacy. Sure, walking hurt like hell, the adrenaline running through his body made it somewhat easier, though. Cameron hadn't given him even the slightest drop of pain medication. So he was going to steal something from the pharmacy. He watched, bidding his time, knowing that pharmacist always went to the bathroom at the exact same time every day. And when this time, as the guy left the pharmacy for a few minutes House sneaked in, going for the painkillers. He bypassed the bottles of Vicodin opting to get something a bit stronger instead. He grabbed a handful and quickly made his escape. He was back in the exam room and sitting on the bed when the others returned.

"Come on," Wilson told him. "I'm taking you home."

"What about Cameron?" he asked innocently.

"Cameron has work to do," answered Cuddy, her voice telling him to shut up.

He shrugged. "Whatever."

The drive back to his apartment was less scary as Wilson navigated the traffic in a safe way. Neither one of them spoke though House really felt as though he should say something. But what? There weren't any words to explain, to make Wilson understand why he had done the things he had. Wilson helped him from the car, walking him to his apartment. He turned to leave when House grabbed his wrist.

"I'm sorry," he said, his hand slipping back to his side.

"I just wish one of you would back down," Wilson told him, the worry clearly written in his eyes. "I hate seeing you this way, House. And I know that Cameron is going to end up in tears at some point. You're hurting the people that care about you."

"I have to do what I have to do," he spoke softly. His eyes searching Wilson's.

"I know," Wilson said before turning and leaving him there, standing in front of his apartment door.

House watched him go, wishing that he had the guts to run after him, to stop him and bring him back. Instead he went into his apartment, resting against the door. In his pocket the bottle of pills weighed heavily. He withdrew them, opening the top, breaking the seal and pouring a handful of pills into his open palm. He looked at them. They would quickly relieve his pain. They were stronger than Vicodin. Better. He swallowed two of them. Replacing the cap he slipped the bottle back into his pocket. In just a few minutes everything would be better. Consequences be damned.


	15. Hit the Floor

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Fifteen: Hit the Floor**

Everything was quickly falling apart. The drugs worked. They worked too well. He couldn't stop taking them as he relished in being pain free. He knew better. He knew the risks that each little pill posed and he didn't care. He took them anyway. One after another. He took them like candy. Finally beginning to feel like his old self again. It was wonderful. Breaking his wrist had been the best idea in the world. It had gotten him to the hospital and he had been able to steal the magic pills. He didn't even care that he was drinking one glass of water after another to the point that he felt like he was drowning. At least the pain was gone. At last he was finally free. Maybe now he could finally tell Wilson all the things he'd been keeping locked inside. His mind was fogged with pain. He felt good.

He grabbed his cell phone and punched in Wilson's number. There wasn't an answer on the other side until the voice mail picked up. He left a message asking Wilson to call him back. He never once thought that maybe the oncologist didn't care anymore. Wilson always cared. He took House's shit with a grain of salt. He eagerly awaited the return of his call. After the first two hours passed he began to get edgy. He didn't like sitting around doing nothing. Now that he wasn't in pain he was feeling useless. He read the medical journal on his coffee table from cover to cover but didn't really absorb any of the information. He sat at the piano and played the first thing that popped into his head. He kept playing, even after the headache began to form. The music flowed through his empty apartment as he played, his fingers flying over the keys. The pain in his head got worse.

"No," he grumbled, getting up from the piano bench only to fall back onto it. The room had spun violently when he stood making him feel like nothing more than a feather on a raging sea. The bottle of pills was on the coffee table. If he could only reach them he could get rid of the headache. He didn't want to admit the real reason behind the growing pain. He didn't care. A headache was nothing compared to the pain he would be in without the pills. His mind made up he tried standing again. This time he held onto the piano as the room spun. At that moment his cell phone decided to sing its lovely song, ringing madly as Wilson returned his call.

He couldn't get to his phone. He couldn't reach the coffee table. He felt his legs give out as he crumbled to the floor. All of a sudden he felt weak and tired. He wanted to curl up and go to sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw the darkness lingering on the edge of his consciousness. How lovely it would be to walk toward the dark and be embraced. And that's exactly what he did. With every step toward the dark he felt more and more alive. His body relaxed, his muscles going slack as he gave into the darkness.

------------------------------------

Wilson closed the door to his office after saying goodbye to his patient. He had been dying to return House's call but had been busy with a worried woman. Now that he should be free for the next fifteen minutes. He sat at his desk chair, picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. He had heard something in House's tone that gave him hope that things were about to improve. He waited anxiously while the phone at the other end rang and rang, going unanswered. With a frown he placed the phone back in its cradle. He couldn't explain the growing sense of dread in his stomach. Something was wrong. He could feel. The world was trying to tell him that something that was horribly wrong and there was no way in hell he was going to ignore it. He grabbed his car keys and left his office. He passed Chase in the hallway. He took a moment to ask the Aussie if he would wait for his next patient. Chase said he would, but he was curious as to where Wilson was off to in such a hurry.

Wilson didn't reply as he nearly ran to the elevator. He had his cell phone in hand, calling House. Every time the voice mail picked up he hung up and hit the redial button. Cuddy yelled after him when he ran through the lobby. He didn't stop. He couldn't. There was somewhere else he had to be. With luck he was able to race to House's apartment without being stopped by a cop. The last thing he needed was to be held up for a speeding ticket. He didn't even bother to shut off his car as he ran into House's apartment building and threw open the door to his place.

House sat on the floor, his eyes closed.

At first Wilson just stood there. He couldn't tell if House was breathing or not. Then fear kicked in and he ran to House's side. He placed a hand on House's good wrist to feel for a pulse. It was there. It was weak but it was there and that's all that mattered. He was still wearing his coat and pulled a tiny medical flashlight from his pocket. He shined it into House's eyes and was dismayed at what he saw. With lightning speed he dialed nine-one-one. As the operator took down the information he gave her he tried to wake House. The operator assured him an ambulance was on the way and he dropped the phone.

"House, come on, wake up," he spoke frantically, placing his hands on House's cheeks. "Greg, wake up. Do you hear me? Wake up. I said I wasn't going to give up on you. Come on, where's that stubborn doctor I know and love?"

House's eyes fluttered open. He couldn't speak he was so weak. His chest barely moved as his breathing grew more and more shallow. Wilson smiled at him, happy to see his pale blue eyes. He didn't care that House's skin was feeling cold and clammy. He ignored the confusion in the other man's eyes. He was just happy that he had been able to draw him out of the pit of darkness. A paramedic came through the door, ruining the moment. Wilson was soon pushed aside as they began working on House. Fist placing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He stood there, watching them stabilize him before wheeling him out on a gurney. Before leaving the apartment some urge forced Wilson to look at the coffee table. There he saw the bottle of pills. And his haunch was sickeningly confirmed.


	16. Easier to Run

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter Sixteen: Easier to Run**

Wilson felt like the world had fallen out from underneath his feet. He was falling into a pit of despair and the bottom didn't appear to be anywhere in sight. He had followed the ambulance to the hospital, ignoring every red light and every stop sign. He really didn't care if he got pulled over for breaking the law. There was only one thing he cared about; House. He walked into the emergency room on trembling legs. The nurse behind the desk took one look at him and picked up the phone nearest her. He could care less about who she was calling. He was more interested in finding House's room or his doctor and getting what information he could out of him. He had to know that House was going to live. He wandered the emergency room without any real direction. Until a hand was placed on his shoulder. When he turned he found himself gazing into the blue eyes of Chase. Foreman and Cameron were standing behind him.

"Care to tell us what's going on, Wilson?" Chase asked him, his accent adding a certain allure to the words. "The head nurse called us, said that we should come down."

"It's House, isn't it?" Cameron spoke up, saying what neither one of the boys had the guts to. "He went and did something stupid."

"So this is where you guys are," came a somewhat frosty voice. They all turned to watch Cuddy approached. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked downright pissed. "I wish you guys would stop sneaking off to have little pow-wows. This is my hospital, you can't hide things from me forever."

"But we aren't having a pow-wow," explained Foreman with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "The nurse called us down and we found Wilson."

"Sure, you just happened to find him," Cuddy sneered with disbelief.

This entire time Wilson had been staring at his boss, and Chase and Cameron had been watching him. They both noticed how he went from looking tired and defeated to angry and spurring for a fight. Chase took a step away from the oncologist. Wilson couldn't believe the audacity that Cuddy had to just waltz into the ER and assume they were meeting behind her back. He knew that the sudden turn of events were her fault. She was the one who failed to see that House didn't have a problem. He had spoken with House's team. They took his pill popping as one of his many quirks and none of them really cared anymore. They respected him. Cuddy was just mad that she couldn't keep him reined in. or maybe she felt that House didn't respect her. Either way, Wilson was tired of seeing her rule over them with an iron thumb. He wanted nothing more than to knock her off her high horse, to bring her down to their level and then some.

"Get the fuck out of my sight," he spoke through clenched teeth. Every word was pronounced clearly. The others stopped their bickering, looking at him in shock.

"Excuse me?" asked Cuddy. "What did you just say?"

"Get the fuck out of my sight." He raised his voice, not caring if everyone in the ER could hear him.

"Watch it, Dr Wilson. You're stepping into unsafe territory," warned Cuddy with an edge to her threat.

"Fuck you," he told her.

Cameron stood there watching them. Foreman was trying not to laugh. Chase's mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

"If you value your job here at all, you'll stop talking right now, Dr Wilson," Cuddy threatened.

Wilson could tell that he had hit a sore spot. He didn't care. Let her fire him. Let her unleash her anger on him. She couldn't possibly hurt him anymore than she already had. And it was time to let her know that he wasn't going to take anymore. "Fire me, see if I give a damn. You had to push. You couldn't just let him be. You knew damn well that he would never give into you and yet, you kept playing the damn game. You don't deserve to run this hospital."

"Wilson-"

"You call yourself a doctor. What kind of doctor makes another person suffer just so they can prove a damn point? Even House has his limits to how far he'll push someone. But you, you are the cruelest person I have ever met and personally, I don't ever want to see you again," he yelled at her. As he spoke she grew angrier and angrier. He had poked the tiger in the cage one too many times.

Cameron cut-in before Cuddy could respond. "What happened to House, Wilson? Why are shaking?"

He looked at Cameron, relaxing as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The young woman had her problems but when it came down to it all she was the best person to have around when the world fell apart. He reached into his pocket for the now empty bottle. "When he came in for his hand, he stole this. He was in so much pain that he bypassed the Vicodin. He went for something stronger. And my guess is that it worked. He overdosed but it worked. He was free of pain."

Cameron took the bottle. Chase looked over her shoulder and his eyes popped open in shock. "That's an empty bottle of Kadian. You mean to tell us he took this whole thing? Was he alive when you found him?"

"Barely," Wilson confessed. "He was unconscious and his breathing was weak. This is bad. He knew the risks but the pain was so much that he didn't care. He wanted to be free of the pain."

Chase put a protective arm around Cameron's shoulders as she began to cry. "He…but…"

"House overdosed on morphine?" Cuddy asked, her voice barely above a whisper. All the anger and the fight had gone out of her. "He wouldn't do that. He isn't that stupid."

"Talk to his doctor. I'm pretty sure he'll confirm that it's morphine poisoning," Wilson told her, his shoulders slumping. "And you helped him right along. You should have just let him have his Vicodin. None of this would have happened if he hadn't been in so much pain."

"Wilson, it's easier for addicts to run from their addictions than it is for them to face them," she assured him, telling him something he didn't want to hear. "This is probably House's way of getting me to cave in and let him have his pills back. Knowing him, there's a good chance that he did this on purpose. And I will not have you make me feel bad for a choice that I'm still going to stand by."

"A whole bottle of Kadian…" whispered Cameron between sobs, her eyes still looking at the empty bottle.

Wilson turned on his heel and left them all standing there. He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to argue with Cuddy, or try to explain things to the others. He just wanted to hold House close. He wanted to go back to the days before when House would push his buttons and tick him off. He'd give up everything for House to be healthy. This couldn't be the end. Things hadn't even begun to take shape. There was never time to talk about how they felt. He wanted that one chance to tell House how he truly felt. And now he was going to be lucky if House made it out alive. The warning signs were there but Cuddy had been too ignorant to notice them. This wasn't suicide, this was some form of murder. He stepped outside, the warm sun beating down on him. He walked for a while, finally falling to his knees in tears as he realized that his whole world was walking out the door.


	17. Figure

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Seventeen: Figure**

Three days passed in which Wilson did little. He hadn't slept soundly, never catching more than a few minutes here and there. His patients were all but forgotten. At least they were being taken care of by one of his colleagues. When it came to eating he'd probably eaten about one meal over the course of those three days. Just the sight of food made him nauseous. The chair beside House's bed was unbelievably uncomfortable but that's where he opted to spend all his time, when he wasn't pacing back and forth. Nothing in those three days made sense to him. No matter how many times he spoke to House's doctor things refused to fall into place. Even now, as he sat in the familiar chair and stared at the bed where House lay, he couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. House hadn't awakened once in three days. The doctor assured him time and time again that there was no head trauma, nothing was wrong with House's brain. If that was so, why wouldn't he wake up?

He stared at the bed. He had never seen House look so frail, so weak. He placed his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin in his hand. By all counts House should have been wide awake and demanding that he be released from the hospital. He should be ranting and raving about various things. Not lying in that hospital bed unmoving, save for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. At least there was that. House still breathed on his own. It was almost as though he were sleeping the days away. The door to the hospital room opened. Wilson didn't bother to check to see who it was. People had been in and out so much in the last three days he was thinking of requesting that a revolving door be put in.

Cuddy stepped into his line of sight, a bottle of medication in one hand and a needle in the other. "What is that for?" he asked her, his voice tired with worry.

"I figured that since he was in this state because of the pain in his leg we would try the Ketamine again. It worked the first time," she replied honestly.

Wilson shook his head. "No, you aren't giving him that."

"Why not? You saw how it worked last time, Wilson. We can't afford to not give it to him," she objected wholeheartedly.

"No," Wilson said more loudly. "I'm his power of attorney and I say no. just take that damn stuff and get the hell out of here. I will not having you messing with him."

"Am I interrupting something?" Cameron asked as she came into the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest in the fashion of a little girl who had just received bad news. Wilson could tell that she had been crying from the puffy appearance of her eyes. She had been doing a lot of crying lately.

"Not at all, Cameron. Cuddy was just leaving," Wilson replied, throwing a glare in Cuddy's direction. Sighing depressively, Cuddy made a hasty exit from the room. Wilson knew he was being hard on her but she had it coming, as far as he could figure. This whole thing had happened because of her, after all. "What is it that you want, Cameron?"

She walked farther into the room and came to stand at the foot of House's bed. "I have had a lot of time to think over the last three days. A lot of time," she emphasized. "And I've been noticing things I never noticed before; which have led me to rethink some things that have happened in the past and I…well, I wanted to talk to you," she said looking at him.

Wilson gestured with his hands open. "Well, start talking. It's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon."

"So I noticed," she smiled softly. "You know, I always wondered why House turned me down. Why he didn't see me as anything but his student. And for the last few months I kept telling myself how stupid and cliché it was to fall for one's mentor. But now I know why he rejected me. I never saw it before, and I don't think the others did either. I'm sure the boys still don't see it. House could never love me. He loves you," she said, her voice carrying a ring of truth. "And judging by the way you refuse to leave this room the feelings are mutual."

Wilson didn't know what to say. What could he possibly tell her? Yes, he had feelings for House, and as far as he knew House felt the same. But there hadn't been time to discuss anything. She he tell her how he held House on his couch one afternoon shortly after he cut himself for the first time? He would never tell her about sleeping beside him in bed. That was a memory he wanted to cherish until the day he died. He had to tell her something, though. The way she was looking at him said as much.

"Please don't say anything to anyone, Cameron," he nearly whispered, his eyes falling back on the still unconscious House. "There wasn't time…I…he…"

She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him. "It's okay, Wilson. I'm just happy that someone finally came along that he could love. Maybe now he won't look at the world in such a hateful way anymore. Maybe you can make him smile. You know," she said with a cock of her eyebrow, "I don't think I've ever seen him smile. Not seriously. Not the kind of smile that puts a sparkle in the eye. I'd like to see him smile that way. I want him to be happy."

"So do I," he agreed. For the first time in the last three days he was feeling somewhat better. He no longer had to hide this secret that he'd kept inside. He knew that Cameron would keep this between them. She wasn't one to run and gossip to every available person. She kissed him lightly on the cheek before leaving him. It was then that he noticed something in the air had changed. Something wasn't as it had been before. The air felt lighter to him. He let his eyes returned to resting on House. And then he knew what it was.

He smiled. "How much longer were you going to lay there and listen to my conversations?"

"I was hoping to make it another hour or so," House replied in thick voice. His eyes opened and he turned to look at Wilson, who had never been happier to be looking into those blue eyes.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Wilson told him.

"Thank you for clarifying the fact that I'm alive, Sherlock," House retorted. There was a twinkle in his eye.

"You could have killed yourself, House," Wilson said, his voice going sullen and hollow. "Why would you risk it? You should have talked to me. I would have helped you in anyway possible."

"I did talk to you," House pointed out. "You couldn't bring me the Vicodin. And I was so far gone by the time I broke my wrist that I didn't care anymore. That's why I took the Kadian. I needed something to get rid of my pain. I need to silence the thoughts in my mind. I hated myself at that point and to be honest, I didn't really care what happened." He turned away from Wilson, choosing instead to look at the ceiling. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"I'm just happy that you're still here," Wilson offered. "There are some thing we need to talk about…"


	18. Breaking the Habit

**Title: **My December

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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**Chapter Eighteen: Breaking the Habit**

Another day passed and House was officially released from the hospital, mainly because he refused to stay in his bed another day. He kept complaining about feeling useless. None of the nurses wanted to enter his room to check his stats because he said rude things to them. Wilson would stand in the corner and smile, happy that his old fiery friend was back in full swing. It amazed him how much he missed the snide remarks that came pouring forth from House's mouth. Even when House said a few rude things to him he smiled, brushing them off like fallen snow on a jacket. He was just happy to have House back. Though from the frowns and complaints, he was the only one.

Cuddy allowed him to be discharged, knowing full well that she couldn't stop him either way. She did put her foot down to keep him from coming back to work for another two days. She sent him on his way home, a bottle of Vicodin in his hand. Cameron muttered something about her giving in and the consequences they were all going face. Cuddy just shrugged it off. What could she do? The hospital needed House. He was the best they had. If he wanted to pop pills for a pain that he felt then she wasn't going to stand in his way anymore. The play had run its last course; she had seen all the acts. With the pills House was a functioning, life-saving doctor. Without them he quickly self-destructed. Next time a cop came waltzing in to tell her that House needed rehab she would kick them out on their ass, tell them to find another doctor. Trittor would hopefully count his lucky stars that he never needed to have House's help. Sure, House would help him, but the things he would do while trying to diagnose the situation. No one needed to grow through that hell.

And so, House found himself back at his apartment, bored out of his skull. At least he wasn't in pain anymore. His mind was clear, free of the fog that had clouded it for so many days. Now he could think about what mattered most; Wilson. Every day he said one rude thing after another to his only friend. How could he do that to someone who cared for him so much that he told off his own boss with no regard to his job? Cameron had filled him in on Wilson's little fit when she found him alone at one point. Wilson had stepped out to make a phone call to one of his patients, or so he said. To hear that he yelled at Cuddy, putting his job on the line to tell her how he really felt, to show her how wrong she was, filled House with something he had been feeling a lot of lately. Especially when it came to Wilson.

It was a feeling of warmth, of loving comfort. He always knew that the others cared about him, respected him as a good doctor, but he had never felt something quite like this, and he wanted to feel it for the rest of his life. He liked looking into Wilson's eyes knowing that there was more than friendship between them. For once in his life he wasn't standing alone. He had found someone willing to stand by his side. However, it was up to him to let Wilson know that it was okay, that it was what he wanted. That meant he would have to change, at least a small part of him. He would have to be nicer to Wilson, say kinder things, do kind gestures out of the goodness of his heart. He would never treat his team that way. They needed to the discipline; they needed to learn to think outside the box. And that's what he would teach them while Wilson taught him how to love again.

He looked at the clock on the wall above his TV. Wilson would be swinging by soon, his shift having ended. House stood, leaving his cane on the coffee table, and limped around the couch. He leaned back against it, watching the door. He wanted to Wilson as he walked through it, tired from a day's work. He wanted to watch the light go on in his eyes when they settled on him. He wanted to experience every angle, every aspect of love. Sometime later, he wasn't sure if it was twenty minutes or more or less, the doorknob turned. Wilson let himself in, stopping in his tracks as he saw House waiting for him.

All this time House had been trying to think of the best thing to say it had finally come to him. "I'm going to break the habit," he told Wilson, not even bothering to say hi or ask him how his day was.

Wilson settled his briefcase on the floor. "What habit? Don't tell me you nearly killed yourself to win a fight with Cuddy and now you're giving up your Vicodin."

House smiled. "No, hadn't even thought of that, but thanks for the idea. No, I've decided that I'm going to stop being rude to you. I have to be nicer if I want you to stay around, and that's what I really want. When I'm not at work you're all I think about. And even when I am at work you aren't far from my mind. Why do you think I always barge into your office without knocking? I want to be in your company, I want to see you smile, see you frown. I like watching the corners of your mouth turn down while the sparkle still glimmers in your eyes. I don't want to push you away," he finished up, his voice having gotten softer.

While he spoke Wilson stood quietly listening. In the last few days House had done a lot to surprise him. He wasn't sure he liked the new House, and he felt he should say so. "House, don't stop being you. Yes, it would be nice if you were a little nicer to me. However, I would hate myself if you stopped being so cold and cruel. I like watching you push everybody's buttons. And truth be told, you are the one who says things others can't, you say what needs to be said. Be just a little bit nicer to me, but don't give up who you are. I'm not going anywhere. Not for a long time."

Wilson closed the gap between them, embracing House much the way he had before. Only this time he was pleasantly surprised when he felt House's arms around his waist. He tilted his head up, brushing his lips gently against Houses, afraid that House would pull away. Instead House surprised him yet again, making the kiss more than just a peck. He pressed his lips against Wilson's, letting all the emotion flow through him. When they broke apart Wilson rested his forehead against House's chest as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't been kissed like that in so long.

"Would I be rude if I asked you to my bedroom?" House asked after a moment.

Wilson smiled, though House couldn't see it. "No, that wouldn't be rude at all. That would be just fine with me."

**Fin**

_**Stay tuned for the upcoming sequel!**_


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